Toward Something of Uncertainty
by Ten Reasons For Nothing
Summary: There's someone dying before me, and - as such - I have no idea what the hell I should do. ...how awfully generic.


**Crap. **

**Hello there. I'm being an idiot, and making a new story, despite the stories that are currently left unfinished in my folders, and despite that stupid script I have to finish for my church. Whassa.**

**For those who are unaware of who I am, name's Ten Reasons For Nothing, but feel free to call me whatever you see fit— I go by a lot of different things online, so it really doesn't matter. Just recently I've gotten into Dangan Ronpa, and after re-watching the playthrough of a particular other video game (which I will not mention, less one of you manage to actually get the glaring references in the story) this idea jiggled in my mind for a while for a while, and after erasing some possible plot holes in my mind I went, **_**fuck it**_**, and went ahead and dished it out.**

**I'm a sucker for messing up cliched storylines into something of my own. As such— this is a typical "OC-who-just-died-is-trapped-in-Hope's-Peak-too" story, but there's a catch: one relating to the particular video game I have in mind. It's a little… unfortunate for our little protagonist, as per usual, but their circumstances are rather unique.**

**Another thing: they're not from the real world.**

**There's some other cliches I'm bandwagoning on at the moment with this (I think), but as to not spoil anyone too much I'll just leave it at that. Another note— I barely got anything planned, but as I am following Dangan Ronpa's storyline (more or less) I… don't think it'll be too much of a problem.**

**Damn me and my refusal to plan. I bet it's going to backfire within the next three chapters, I'm sure of it, but since I'm a lazy ass I don't seem to care...**

**So let's get this damn ball rolling and see where it'll go.**

* * *

1:35 AM

Date: ? Place: ?

* * *

There's someone dying before me, and— as such— I have no idea what the hell I should do.

How awfully generic.

She hasn't died, not just yet: her killer hasn't made a strike— not yet, anyway— but it's obvious, by the way the entire way is set up, she's going to get stabbed soon enough. It's almost ironic, I muse, as she's trembling and clutching desperately onto the doorknob, and how, really, _she's _supposed to be the one on the other side of the door, eyes wide with bloodlust and terror, killing out of desperation, self-defence, and paranoia.

At least— that's what I _think _it is. I'm no psychologist, but, well, she looks _scared_, and he looks just as scared as she does, except the knife's in _his_ hand. Doesn't take much brain power to really sum up what that'll lead too.

(And his red hair pretty much fits the whole thing, contrasting her own blue. Call me sexist, but the image of the blue-haired petite girl holding the knife with the red-haired guy trembling in the bathroom just doesn't add up.)

She's let go of the door by this point: she's still shaking, heaving, and her eyes, constantly shifting left and right as she takes unsteady steps back, reflect those of a wolf whose discovered its no longer at the top of the food chain, whose mental image was just shattered leaving behind a poor, broken dog staring a gun barrel right between its eyes.

...how poetic of myself, to describe such a scene like this so calmly when she's fucking _dying_.

The door isn't locked, but that damned idiot of a red-head doesn't seem to realize that. Maybe it's because the door's refusing to budge when he jiggles it constantly like some idiot instead of trying some other way, since— on closer inspection (basically just like, _letting go of the damn knife, calming the fuck down, and staring at the stupid sphere of metal you freakin' refuse to just take a damn look at_)— it's pretty obvious there isn't any sort of lock, which leads to the conclusion that, yeah, the damn thing isn't fucking locked, the door's just really sucky.

But, well, apparently, when you're in a life-or-death situation here, where everything is so damn _obvious_, you don't have any sort of common sense.

...you may be wondering what I'm doing, at this point. And how they've managed to not find me, and how _I've _managed to see both of them despite them being separated by a wall.

...well, okay. Let's start with this: I'm not the kind of individual who'd let a person, regardless of gender identity, get killed in a bathroom: especially_ someone else's_ bathroom, where'd it be pretty clear that said person would be framed for the crime. And I'm not the sort of character who'd let a guy kill someone else, especially if its only because out of self defence and they're just as confused and scared as their potential victim, who's going to be dead in a matter of minutes.

There's only one problem.

...I'm dead.

Zero, zilch, nada. Dead, deceased, missing, lifeless, 'gone to meet maker', inanimate, whatever it is you wish to call it: I'm _not alive_, and there's nothing I can do about it.

My name is… actually, I don't remember. Neither do I remember my gender, however unfortunate _that_ is. There isn't even a damn _corpse _for me to identify as, and the only thing close to one is the poor girl before me.

And, well… this may sound pathetic, but—

...I don't remember dying.

Yeah, yeah— it's stupid, I know. I mean— it's your _death_. The moment of your passing— your candle's out, _whoosh_!; light one moment, steaming smoke the second— you're freakin' _dead, _and you're supposed to remember, right? _Right_?

Fuckin' _nope._

Yeah, it sucks, it sucks, it sucks. All you living people got it good, no matter how much you complain your asses off: at least you're _alive_. No matter how much you've got it bad, well—

_At least you have a damn identity._

Me? I don't know who the hell I _am,_ _where _the hell I am, how the hell I _died_, how the hell I'm still somehow_ here_, as well as about a thousand more "how the fucking hell"-related questions that won't shut up in my mind. It's absolutely wonderful. I seriously recommend for you to try it.

I don't know how, but I'm here, watching someone die. I'm not sure if I should feel afraid, or if I shouldn't, but being dead yourself usually sucks the fear factor out of it, being that _I'm _currently dead and there really isn't much to be afraid of, from what I've experienced so far. Still, it's really much better to be alive. Take it from a dead person.

Currently, I'm— _somehow_— in the doorknob, somehow _possessing it, _explaining my uncanny ability to see both perpetrators simultaneously: though that doesn't explain me being able to see the front door to this room, as well as the hallway right outside. Whatever. I'd woken up here, in this… _doorknob_, with no explanation as to how nor why. In short, it's really weird, disconcerting, and just really boring, since doorknobs really don't have much going for them in terms of the 'fun' factor.

Oh, wow, take a look at that— damn idiot's broken the doorknob, what brilliance. It's fallen— as well as my unfortunate spirit residing within it— and it and I are on the floor, watching from an almost surreal angle as he pulls open the (now damaged) door and— oh, _shit— _stalks inside.

...she's going to die, isn't she…?

_W— wait—!_

The total surrealness of my situation and the absolute realness of what's going on before me abruptly hits me like a tsunami, rendering me into a trembling soul, and I'm thinking, _oh crap, oh crap, oh crap oh crap oH CRAP— _

Panic fills my insides (or the lack of it, anyway) and I'm clutched with paralysis, watching the scene unfold before me as I froze. _How the hell is that possible, I mean, I'm a fucking _ghost_, there's nothing I can do—_

I reach forward, however the best I could— _stop, you idiot, fucking _stop_, do you know what you're even _doing—?!

The world flashes to red, everything seems to stop, and orbs glow before me, bright and blue, but it doesn't matter, because _I just can't let someone die in front of me while I do nothing—!_

And then there's another flash, and I'm back in reality—

And then I find myself—

...I'm in the knife.

The scene's shifted a little: I still see the knob, uselessly dead on the floor as a cold hunk of metal, and I'm being clutched by shaking fingers and a sweaty palm as the world before me bobs rhythmically to the redhead's footsteps. _Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. _With every step he's getting closer and closer and closer and closer and closer…!

It's undeniable. I… I really am in the knife.

_H… ho… how..?!_

…_I'm in the bloody knife?!_

I don't understand.

This doesn't make any sense.

The knob I was in is _there_, but I'm _here_, _somehow_, but I was _there_, how—?!

_This is not the time to think about that! _I'm shouting at myself— _look, you can fucking _move_, maybe, just maybe, there's something you can do—?_

B— but I don't know, I don't know: but, nevertheless, I try and calm myself down. _Slow down, slow down, slow the_ crap_ down…_

..._slow down?_

...those words…

I'm confusing myself— I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I _fucking don't know— _

I'm in the knife— s— so _what_? It's not like I can _do _anything. I want to snap at something, kick at something, and in my vent my attention shifts to the shower door: the shower is caged in with glass, a measly means of separation from the rest of the bathroom beside it— and—

_What was it that I did, again—?_

I reach out, one more time, and—

_The world shifts to an eery red, and time comes to a sudden stop._

I abruptly pause.

_...what_?

Wa— wait. That— that can't be right, can it—?! I whirl around, madly, twisting and turning and taking everything and wondering— _what? What? What's going on, what's happening—?!_

_...time has stopped._

Time has stopped.

Everything around me is in a red-scale, red on red on red on red and it's _maddening_— but, aside from that, curiously… certain things seem to be… be _glowing_.

Blue spheres flicker within the cores of many different object, scattered throughout and seemingly at random: the doorknob I was in, the knife I'm currently occupying, the hinges of the both the shower door and the bathroom door—

...huh.

Gingerly— not really knowing what to expect— I reach out, once again, towards the shower door.

There's a sudden burst of electricity— _what? Wait— what, a connection was made...?— _and when I let, go, well!— I find myself within the core of the shower door.

I retreat myself, stunned— wait, what just happened—?!

— but there's no time to think— no time to react, no time to gauge everything that's happened so suddenly and so abruptly and just so _maddeningly _in the past few minutes— for I feel, I _sense_—

..._I could save her life._

I don't know why, I don't know how: I just _know, _the fact rooted deeply in my senses and in my being and in my thoughts and _soul_, and I _know I have to do something about this_.

My attention shifts back to the door hinges I'm currently occupying— the door's wide open (why hadn't she bothered to close it? Is it because she was aware that no matter what she did she knew that she'd be killed, anyway?), and the glass seems to tremble from within, shivering with the fear that seems to quiver from the forms of the two terrified beings that currently occupy the bathroom— minus one lonely spirit. He hasn't reached her— not just yet—

— _but I could stop it? How—?_

— and the screwdriver that had been clutched tight in his other hand clatters to the floor with a deafening glitter of metal on tile. He's making his way closer—

— _closer and closer and closer and closer and closer—!_

— and, suddenly, almost against my will, I heave the door shut with all my might.

The door slams shut, abruptly, and the metal screeches indignantly as it scrapes and scratches at the tile below, the wall screaming as the door it thrown into it: and the girl and the guy scream— understandably. The boy's dropped the knife, eyes wide with even more terror, and the girl's hiccuping, tears streaming down her face: but a confused look is skewering through the fear, and the horrified panic and utter confusion seem to wage a battle within their eyes as they both freeze, not really able to comprehend what had just happened.

Well, neither am I.

..._what the hell did I just do…?!_

But, for the moment, it doesn't even seem to matter: for the heat of fear licks and ignites in their eyes— and desperation seems to settle, and the boy's eyes are wild and mad. He bends down, whole body trembling as he takes up the knife, as if he's performing some kind of crazy, insane, bloody ritual; the grip on the knife tightens, sweat dripping from his fingers and from his hair, and with a disgruntled and desperate cry he throws back the shower door— and lunges.

She could only scream when the knife plunges into her chest: and blood flies everywhere, like water from a fountain.

Everything within me shuts down.

_Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no—_

His eyes are wide, fearful and terrified, and her's flicker, for a moment, before something within her wheezes, and dies. He's shaking— his entire body trembles, as her own body goes limp and falls.

_...she's dead._

If I had a physical body, I would've fallen to my knees.

_she… she's dead…_

_...and it's all because of me…_

I don't even notice how the boy leaves the room, the door squeaking close behind him.

My mind whirls with the possibilities. If I had done this, if I hadn't done that, If I'd done this sooner, if I'd done this later— I can see _so many times _where she could've lived, but because of my idiocy and incompetence she's lying, _dead_, slouched on a wall, splattered and stained with hideous red blood.

"Damn it!"

No one hears me, but like I give a damn about that. I shift my spirit around the various littered items aimlessly, restless and troubled— the knife to the doorknob to the roller to the door hinge to the knife to the shower to the knife that goddamned knife— and I settle myself once again to the shower door hinges, my soul shivering with an uneasiness I can't seem to control.

I wish I knew her name. She's dead, like me, and now…

_...like me…_

_...could it be…?_

...can I posses dead bodies?

The thought pounds at me, and I'm not so sure if I should act upon my sudden burst of inspiration— if it's even appropriate to call it that, really. It almost feels as if I'm intruding upon her privacy— I'm not the kind of person who would touch anyone, less they gave me their explicit permission for the sake of their privacy (as well as the fact that I'm seriously just not a touchy-feely person whatsoever)— but, well, she's _dead_, s— so...

The logic sucks, but it doesn't matter now, does it…? There's nothing for me to lose, really: now that I've discovered I can move around some bloody objects, there's really no reason for me to stay here— I could just… leave.

But my gaze shifts back to the girl, nevertheless. Just because I'm dead, doesn't mean I should subject others to the same fate...

...

...I've made my decision.

I tug at reality, and time stops as the world shifts to the eery red once again. Her corpse— unlike before— glows with a new blue core, and worry and pity rakes at my being. The cores seem to be only present in inanimate object— non-living things. If her corpse has a core now, then…

That doesn't matter. I shake off the cobwebs of uncertainty, worry, and fear, and— with a finality that seems to seal some sort of fate— I reach out and touch her core.

* * *

**A/N: I'm literally combining the beginnings of both video games/visual novel/adventure games, pfff. So if you don't know, you don't know. If you can find out what game's mechanics I'm adding to this story you get a kudos from me.**

**Didn't look over this, 'cause I'm lazy and I just wanted to finish the thing, hahaha. Also - when did Sayaka die, exactly? I don't think they specified, so I... kinda just threw in a random guess.**


End file.
